


Skid the Ice

by Sheriarty



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And a kick to the head probably, Canon-Typical Violence, FrostIron - Freeform, IronFrost - Freeform, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers (2012), Slow Burn, Swearing, Tony Stark Has A Heart, and a lot of untreated PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-05-12 08:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19225738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheriarty/pseuds/Sheriarty
Summary: „-not a perfect man, I won’t even try to lie. He wouldn’t have wanted me too. He had his flaws – he was a smart mouthing, narcissistic, arrogant idiot. Never sitting still, always tinkering in his workshop, always.. always trying to make things work better, smoother – never satisfied with how things were, always searching for a way to make something good… -great.”x x xAlternative continuation of The Avengers (2012) in which Tony doesn't land back on Earth, because space is fickle and so is the Void. With everyone thinking him dead, who will pick him up from this goddamn white wasteland?





	1. Crash-landing

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, I will put additional warnings for each chapter into the notes, so keep an eye out for it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.

„-not a perfect man, I won’t even try to lie. He wouldn’t have wanted me too. He had his flaws – he was a smart mouthing, narcissistic, arrogant idiot. Never sitting still, always tinkering in his workshop, always.. always trying to make things work better, smoother – never satisfied with how things were, always searching for a way to make something good… -great.” His voice breaks on the last word and for a second his eyes flickers down to the useless notes in his trembling fingers, the words jumping on the paper, not making any sense.

“.. He was just too clever for his own good. He.. he tried making up for all those years he.. he earned this name- He never.. He always felt guilty for.. those weapons he had build to protect us being sold to our enemies, I think. All this- this protecting us, giving-“ a stutter in his voice makes him swallow, trying to work around the knot in his throat like a shrapnel, tightening his jaw and taking a few breaths.

He looks up then from the little, yellow notes in his fingers to all those faceless people standing in front of him. Cameras pointing at him… The microphone crackles lightly when he exhales a little too much. No one is uttering a word, all eyes turned on him, the air is heavy like fog.

“… He gave his life for us and I think.. I think we asked enough of him. May he rest in peace.” He ends in one breath, fingers crumbling around the paper, “Thank you.” He adds in a mumble, leaning closer to the microphone before stepping back and away from the podium, vanishing behind the curtain to the right.

Pepper stands to one side, arms crossed over her chest and fingers curling into her own rips, shoulders drawn up tight as she looks up to him. He sees the exact moment her eyes begin to dwell over and he steps in front of her, lifting his hands to her forearms. The notes stuffed in pocket feel like bricks.  
She trembles and draws a shuddering breath, before stepping into his chest. He catches a glimpse of her face crumbling before her forehead meets his breastbone through the jacket and she starts shaking again, silent sobs racking through the tiny body.

Rhodey sighs, feeling his own breath hitching in his throat. He allows himself a small moment to rest his face against her hair, closing his eyes.

He hears the calming voice of Dr. Banner waving over to them from where he is talking to the crowd now about how he met Tony, how frighteningly and fascinatingly intelligent that man had been. Rhodey can’t suppress a wet snort at the “He poked me with a taser just to see how I would react”, because it is just so Tony and he feels Pepper smile against his collar when Banner tells the audience how in the beginning Tony had been the only one addressing him and the other guy in conversations, not tiptoeing around the topic, never seeing him and the Hulk as two different things, but as two sides of the same coin. Treating him like a person. He had been the one teaching Banner that the burden people like them carried… was actually a privilege. A responsibility to help and protect.

 

When Pepper stirs, Rhodey lets his hands fall back to his sides, deliberately looking over to where Captain Rogers is now coming up from the left. In passing the Captain claps a ducked Banner comfortingly on the shoulder, while Pepper composes herself.

She straightens up and when he turns back to her, her eyes are still shining, but she is holding up, even managing a small smile. Brave Pepper. Rhodey could see once more why Tony had loved her so much.  
“… That was.. that was a good speech. I… I am sure he would have liked it.”  
“He would have liked more booze and ACDC for his last party.” Rhodey replies with a grin, feeling his chest seize in pain and Pepper manages a weak snort, fresh tears springing into the corners of her eyes, but her smile is a little more real, as she nods.  
“Definitely.”

 

Everything is black when he comes to and for a horrible moment he thinks he is dead.  
His head is killing him, though and there is a faint buzzing behind his forehead far too persistent to feel even slightly like the restful peace of death. At least he really hopes this is not how being dead feels.

After blinking a few times his vision clears enough to realize that it is not completely dark. He can make out ripped dark shapes looming above him and then something lands softly close to his eye, making him gasp gently in surprise, but it does not hurt.

He needs a second to realize it is a snowflake. Softly trickling from the night sky and into his vision. It looks weird, the white flakes suddenly appearing before his eyes out of the darkness above.

Wait – on his face?  
His mask is gone.  
He tries to sit up automatically, but his body weights a ton. His heart starts beating in his ears, as his eyes flicker from one side to the other, restricted by the helmet piece still around the back of his head. It is dark around him. He can’t see far.  
The dark shapes above him turn out to be giant trees. Firs, his mind supplies.

His breathing hitches as he tries to move again, slowly starting to feel a shiver working up his spine. The air is so cold it seems to cut into his throat like broken bits of ice.  
Through the nose, he reminds himself, and he tries to close his mouth. His lips burn, too.  
Breathing through his nose turns out to be a horrible idea, because he is not getting enough air.  
He gets back to panting, gulping in the burning cold oxygen. His vision blurs and he blinks furiously up into the starless sky.

“.. Jar-“ he tries, but his voice breaks and he closes his eyes.  
Pictures of explosions flash up, knocking the breath out of his lungs. They punch him in the guts like fists and he rips his eyes back open, trembling, gasping loudly and a sound escapes his throat.  
You’re alive, you’re not dead.  
You are alive and you are currently lying in a fir forest and it is night. You’re ok.  
He tells himself those facts, trying to calm down his nerves raging through his mind.  
No aliens in the sky.  
No giant mother ship spitting out smaller alien ships that all want to kill you.  
No explosions. No nuclear missile.  
Where is the missile? Where is he? Where is everyone else?

“.. Jarvis” Tony rasps out barely audible, holding his breath and waiting for an answer. His heart starts pounding when everything stays deadly silent.  
“Jarvis? Buddy.. you hear me?” he tries again, feeling the desperation bleed into his voice like someone filling his glass to the brim, on the verge of spilling it all.  
Still no answer. Nothing.  
He can only hear his own ragged breath and the buzzing of blood rushing in his ears, feeling ashamed about the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“.. Jarvis?” he hates how small his own voice sounds – how scared. But his A.I. does not answer. Tony feels a lump in his throat and blinks when another snowflake lands near his eyelashes.  
Jarvis isn’t there.  
He is alone.  
He is vulnerable.

Something seems to happen to his lungs – they don’t expand anymore, they don’t listen to him. He tries to breath in, but they just won’t cooperate.  
Fuck. Fuck, my lungs are damaged, I am alone, I can’t breath.  
He can’t get in air anymore, he doesn’t know why. His body feels hot and then cold, like something is literally crawling up his spine, paralyzing him. He can’t move, why can’t he move? His heart is roaring in his ears and he can hear his own gasps, but why is there no air, when he can hear himself sucking it into his mouth?  
The world is spinning and shaking and the snowflakes are blurring into each other. His body doesn’t listen to him. What is happening? Why is his body not listening to him?  
The sudden urge to run washes over him, crashes onto his mind like a wall-breaking wave, exploding in his head and all he can think of is, breath and there is no air here and he needs to get up, he needs to run somewhere safe.  
He has no control over his body- he has to stay in control. He wants to run, the world is spinning and blurring and he thinks, that’s it. I am gonna die, I am going to die.  
He doesn’t want to die, he feels constricted and horrible. Somehow he manages to roll onto his side and gets his arm under his chest, pushing himself into a sitting position.  
He just can’t breath. Something must be clogging his chest, his lungs – something, anything. His metal fingers scrape over his armor, trying desperately to find an edge so he can tear it away, tear it off, its killing him, its crushing his rips.  
He can’t see clearly, but somehow his fingers find the emergency button on his chest that loosens the hangers enough that he can ram his hands into the crook and rip it away. The hydraulic groans as it triggers the automatic opening, something is wedged and it is locked, not moving and Tony gasps, thinking no, no, I am going to suffocate, wrenching on the gap and pulling with all his might, arms shaking.

Everything is shaking and the metal groans under the force before it snaps and gives in. The sudden lack of resistance as the chest plate flies off causes him to tip over and he gasps, rolling onto his back and his fingers roam over his chest – but the metal gloves keep him from really checking his own body and he rips on them, desperate, shaking his head, not able to utter a word, teeth shattering and hearing himself gasp, giving desperate noises.  
He manages to find the manual openings, scratching on them until they pull off, shaking out of the gloves as if they are suddenly hot and burning his hands.

His fingers, now free of metal catch the rest of his helmet, wrenching it off his head as well, before he lets them run over his chest, convinced that he is going to find some kind of giant shrapnel embedded into his lungs. But his buzzing, trembling fingers find nothing, only the fabric of his clothes and he gasps again, eyes flickering down to his own body. His hands come to rest over his arc reactor. It's still glowing.  
He is fine. He is ok. There is no blood on his hands. No blood on his shirt. Nothing is wrong with his chest. Nothing is wrong with his arc reactor.  
His shoulders are shaking, his whole body is like one tense muscle and he shakes his head, gritting his teeth, fingers gripping into the edges of the reactor, as he sits there.

I am okay. I am alive. I am not bleeding out. I am not going to bleed to death alone.

He tries to tell himself that, over and over while tremors rack his body. He bows over, the glowing of his arc reactor an electric blue, showing him that he is alive still.  
Tony doesn’t know how long he stays hunched over himself like that. He doesn’t know anything. He feels horrible and drained and when he finally manages to look up again after a few tries, nausea hits him and he squeezes his eyes shut, just so managing to lean to the side to not vomit all over himself.

 

With something akin to a groan he pushes himself away after emptying the little his stomach had held and rolls onto his back again, staring up into the sky. Dizziness claims his head and he closes his eyes, tasting the bitterness in his mouth and grimacing, not managing to keep his mouth shut and starting to pant again.

He lies there for a long time. Everything feels numb and terrible and fine tremors run through him still from time to time.  
It takes some time to notice that after a while the tremors are coming from the cold.  
He has no idea what just happened to him and that is what probably scares him the most. With a groan he manages to move his arms and push himself up again, slowly.

The first thing he does is grab after some snow and stuff it into his mouth to get rid of that awful taste, rolling away from where he had eaten backwards.  
He tastes blood as well and grimaces, before grabbing more snow and pushing it against his face and closed eyes, letting the shocking cold bring him back to the here and now.  
It melts against his skin and he slowly lets his hands glide down into his lap, taking a deep breath and looking down at himself again. He feels drained.

His legs are still in the suit, his upper arms and shoulders, too, he notices as he tries to straight up a little. The back plates are loose from the wrenching and tearing on the chest piece and sides. The left boot is missing, his sneaker greeting him there.  
He turns his head to the right – the shoulder armor there is dented and stands up in a weird angle, dislocated from the arm piece. His eyes find the chest piece lying a bit away from where he had thrown it off, just like the gloves.

All in all, his suit is basically trash.  
He is defenseless.

He takes a deep breath when he feels panic claw at his chest again.  
Get a grip, Stark, a voice that sounds scarily much like Natasha echoes in his head.

What Natasha suddenly spooks around in his mind, he has no idea and oddly enough it makes him snort.  
Stay calm, another one tell him. Bruce with his meditating voice. He would probably tell him to find his Qi. Cap would tell him to focus on his orders or something else captain-like. Of course he wouldn’t listen and retort something cool, hah. Cool, get it? Right, not his best, but cut him some slack.

They’re right, though. He is alive, he is not injured, and he is not in space anymore. He is in some kind of fir forest and its fucking cold and he needs to get his ass up and moving if he doesn’t want to freeze his nose off.

With a huff he tries to move his legs. The hydraulic is slow and stiff – obviously too damaged to function smoothly anymore. Its no use, he has to get out of it. It’s a shame, it would have kept him a little more warm.  
While he bows over to work on the manual openings on the sides, he wonders where the fuck he landed. It's not Manhattan, that much is pretty clear. He doesn't remember how he got here.

His memory is a stuttered mess, like a malfunctioning computer device and when it starts to show him blurry pictures of giant spaceships and a dark void sprinkled with stars as if a child flunk white paint on a black wall– Tony stops thinking about it, feeling something starting to press against his chest again.  
Gritting his teeth and shaking his head, which results in a buzzing, painful throbbing he gets back to the legs, working himself out of his suit slowly.

It takes longer than he thought, his fingers stiff from the cold and he is just about to pull his right foot out of the banged up boot, when he spots something a little off.  
His eyes follow the path of destruction – obviously caused by his crash landing, snow and dirt and splintered wood everywhere. A giant swath of destruction.  
There is a hunched shadow on the ground, a couple of feet away from him.

Tony freezes in his movements, breath caught in his throat as he stares.  
Nothing moves beside the gentle fall of snowflakes, but he doesn't take his eyes off. It doesn't stir, even when Tony's eyes flicker to where he threw his glove. It's no use, he would need time to attach it back to his hand and back to the arc reactor to use it as an actual weapon. So he just grabs after the sharpest piece of metal he just peeled himself out off and jumps to his feet (which is not easy with one foot still in an Ironman boot).  
The shape still refuses to move.  
Frustration hits him like a truck unprepared and he steps (or hobbles, accurately speaking) towards the threat, fed up with everything, with every fucking thing, “What is it, huh?! Come here you fucking-” he starts yelling, but as soon as he gets close enough to see more than shadows he freezes once more, eyes widening.

“... What the ever-living...” Tony mumbles, the metal falling from his hand as he sees the... thing lying there. For a heart stilling second he thinks it one of those Chitauri Aliens, but – its blue. And dead.  
Tony feels a shudder running through his body as he watches the heap of blue limbs and blood. It must have been in the way as he crashed through the woods, he thinks absentminded, because it lies in the direct path of the aisle he left.

He steps closer, slowly, even though he can see clearly the closer he gets, that the thing is definitely dead. Just for precaution he quickly gets out of the other boot, takes back up the metal piece and throws it at the body. It doesn't even twitch.  
Well, there still has to be something new and unknown to him that Tony doesn’t want to touch and examine.  
He rolls the massive body onto its back. “Christ..” he exhales, because its huge. Its blue and giant and clad in some kind of fur. The fur is on his back and looks like a ridiculous cape and really, this was not meant to keep him warm, because that would have been the most ineffective way to wear it for that purpose.

It is not human, that much is clear as well, even if it looks like one beside a few characteristics – like the height or the lack of hair... and the blue skin. The skin is rough, oddly thick and... are those tattoos?

They are all over the body and when Tony, in a bold moment, lets a finger glide over them he is surprised to feel some kind of ridges – as if those marks are scars. “What the fuck...”.  
Frowning, he crouches closer, using the light of his arc reactor to examine the face. There is no hair, but some kind of sharp bone-structure sticking out of the sides. He lets his fingers probe there, exhaling in a mix of fascination and horror. No ear conchs, no eyelashes or eyebrows. What kind of creatures is this? Did it fell from the portal accidentally, when Tony did, too?

His breath fogs over his head as he crouches by the dead body. “.. Sorry for killing you, I guess?” he mutters after a while, because he most definitely did. The things neck is twisted and half of his face smashed in, the jaw and cheekbones shattered like ice. Tony swallows and gets back to his feet, walking back to the remains of his suit to see what he can still use of it.

His phone is dead. Just as everything else that needs electricity and/or the internet to work. His suit is, like he already figured, mostly trash. The repulsers on his gloves he can probably still use if he manages to get them to work again. Luckily he always has emergency tools attached to the insides of his suit. Some of them are broken, but there is enough of it left to make them work again. Some hidden projectiles and tasers, just gimmicks, but better than nothing.  
His eyes flicker to the dead thing now and again, but as predicted it stays dead. There is some kind of guilt gnawing on the back of his mind over accidentally killing it. Whatever it was. Hopefully it was some evil Chitauri and Smurf lovechild so he doesn't have to feel regret over breaking its face.

It is cold and he knows the only thing making him not kneel over is the momentary shock or whatever. He isn't a doctor.  
He has to find shelter, find a phone, electricity, anything.  
He is going to get out of this. Pepper is probably worrying her head off and he really wants her to yell at him for some reason. Maybe to bring back some normality into his life.

 

They could have at least taken the mouthpiece off, Loki thinks to himself, as he leans against the opposite wall of the cell he had been thrown in unceremoniously by his not-brother. Two guards are positioned to both sides of the cell, as if the shapeshifter has any chance to escape. It is ridiculous, all of it. The whole ordeal and Loki does not know if he wants to snarl or laugh about it all.

At least he is momentary safe from him.  
And when Odin decides to kill him it is still better than anything Thanos (a shudder ripples down his neck at the name) has in store for him. And knowing the old man, he would maybe even make it quick.

He could use something to eat. The demi-god grins bitterly, the smirk hidden by the mouthpiece, but his eyes glitter dangerously at the guard that makes the mistake to look over his shoulder. He winces and quickly turns back around.

  


“-They all mourn the death of the man of Iron, father. I feel sorrowed myself, he was a good companion and a worthy defender of Midgard...”  
They are standing by the balcony, Thor turned to his father, who is staring ahead quietly over the great city, as he listens to his son unravel the happenings on Midgard. The roofs gleam in the light of the sun like liquid gold poured over all buildings.

There is silence for some time when the story finds its end, before Thor's face hardens, “.. What is to become of Loki now, father? What will you think fit as punishment for his crimes?”  
Odin stays quiet for a few breaths, before turning to look at his angry son. Angry and hurt by the betrayal by the man he thought his brother. But there are more important things now than the childish and foolish rebellion of Loki.

“Loki has to wait for his punishment. We have to take care of the chaos around us, before dealing with the chaos safely locked away for now. Since the Bifröst broke, there is disorder in the Nine Realms. Groups of bandits and villains rack havoc over our worlds. I need you to take care of them as soon as the Bifröst is repaired, Thor.”

With the help of the Tesseract the rebuilding of the Bifröst begins and there is little to do in the meantime, for they can not travel to the other Realms without it.  
The warriors three and Thor start to plan their battle strategies, working over maps and books and meeting up to talk about their ideas concerning the various threats and how they seem it best to take care of it.  
It is not something Thor is used to, planning and working ahead, strategically striking instead of acting immediately.  
He finds it surprisingly interesting and fascinating. It helps keeping him occupied.

He does not visit Loki, leaving him to rot in his cell.  
He wants him to pay for what he did, for all the lives he took, for the destruction he caused. For every single thing he did in his foolish attempt to conquer his loved planet.

Some part of him though, still refuses to belief his brother lost.

Some small voice in his head whispers once in a while in a calm hour, telling him that Loki had hesitated back then on the Stark Tower.  
He sees the tears in his brothers eyes still, as he has him pinned there, remembers his trembling voice, “It's too late. It's too late to stop it“.  
He wants to believe so desperately that Loki meant it – that Thor did not imagine the despair in his brothers eyes, the fear and pain and the shock when he saw what he had done.

But his brother had always been a talented liar and Thor cannot trust him anymore. He can’t afford it.

With the Bifröst still under repair there is no way to communicate with Midgard. Thor finds himself standing by the bridge often, looking down into the void, wondering how earth is fairing. How they are managing the care taking of the ruins, how his companions are battling their very own ghosts, while he can only wait here and watch.

“Your lady is still well, Prince.”

He knows he must be jangling Heimdalls nerves. He gives him an apologetic smile, as they stand next to each other one evening, like so many evenings, both staring into the stars, but only Heimdall being able to see more than just that. He comes here often, keeping Heimdalls company and even if he never asks, Heimdall knows what he wishes to hear.  
“And..”  
“And your companions, too.” Heimdall finishes for him, golden eyes briefly flickering to the prince and then back ahead. Thor is still watching him, waiting for some elaborations.  
He is sure he does not imagine the little sigh of the keeper of the Bifröst, before he continues: “They are in mourning over the loss of your soldier of iron. But there is little time for grief for them. The destruction caused by Loki has to be taken care of and the death of one of them ripped the unit apart, each of them needing space and time to come to terms with it.”

It is not much new information and Thor smothers down a small disappointed sigh. He wishes he could help them somehow, could offer them his presence at least. He feels responsible for all the death and damage Loki had caused.  
“There is much trouble in all Nine Realms, Prince.” Heimdall points out after some silence between them. Thor suspects the Allfather told him to. He knows his father wishes for him to turn his eyes from his obsession over Midgard and instead take care of the hassle around.

He will – He will take care of it, but he can’t just turn his back on Midgard, not after all this. He loves the Earth, he loves the people there and the heart and courage he found there. The mercy and kindness of Midgardians. The selflessness of some.

“People are in need of protection everywhere..” Heimdall continues and Thor can’t stop the look of slight annoyance he gives him for that. “I know, Heimdall. I will take care of it, you have my word.”  
The golden gatekeeper stares at him a little longer with that unnerving lack of emotions, before giving a short, satisfied nod and turning back to look ahead into the sky.

Then something strange happens. Heimdall blinks.  
Which normally would not be odd for anyone, but Heimdall never blinks. Thor stares at him. “What is it? What do you see?”

“… Gastropnir.” Heimdall answers after a few heartbeats and Thor needs a moment to put the word into any kind of context.  
“Gastropnir? That is in Jötunheim. What of Jötunheim, Heimdall?”  
What is happening in that Realm? He knows of trouble, yes, but on Jötunheim? How was that possible?! It was near destroyed, without any source of power and after Loki’s attempt of genocide it had been even worse! There is next to no intelligent life on that Planet, how could there even be hassle?! What evil could be happening in that blasted world of ice and darkness to make even Heimdall stall?

“Someone who does not belong there wanders through Mikill Scógr.”  
“The large forest..” Thor mutters, remembering an old tale told by his mother so many years ago. He frowns, blinking as he lets the words repeat in his mind, “Someone who does not belong?”

Heimdall takes his time to answer, as always and it unnerves the prince, but he stays quiet, knowing better than to try and rush him.  
“It is a Midgardian” the warrior clad in gold explains finally, even if he seems almost reluctant about that.

Thor feels his heart starting to race, hope growing in the pitch of his stomach like a small flickering light. “Does he have a glowing circle in his chest? A blue one?” his voice catches in his throat, when Heimdalls eyes flicker to him briefly. “Yes.”

“He is alive” it is more a question than a statement and his eyes are fixed on the all-seeing keeper of the rainbow bridge.  
His heart jumps in happiness when he is greeted with an almost smile and a nod. “He is.”

He needs to talk to his father.


	2. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, Loki expected a few more weeks, or at least days before his trial. Not that he is overly fond of decaying away in a cell before being sentenced to death- or whatsoever Odin had in store for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> Let us see if and how the Aesir decide to help Tony ;)

“No.”  
Thor stares up to his father sitting on Hlidskialf, frowning angrily at the older man. “Father, you do not under-“  
“I understand very well, son, but my answer remains.”  
“I have to rescue him! He sacrificed his life for his world, is this how you treat a hero?!”

When his father straightens a little on his throne, Thor squares his shoulders, eyes flickering briefly to his mother, who is sitting next to her husband. She says nothing, only watching the exchange with wakeful eyes.

“Do not tell me how to treat a mortal, Thor. I have enough of your obsession with Midgard and its inhabitants.”  
Before Thor can speak up again, his father lifts a hand, gesturing for him to keep quiet.  
“Son,” he starts in that voice he thinks is reasonable, but only fuels Thor anger at him, because this is not a matter of explanation for him.

He has to travel to Jötunheim and bring Anthony Stark back home!  
Even if he landed in Gastropnir, the land that is by far the most warm of that planet, it is still too cold for a human to survive for long! While they stand around here talking his companion is freezing to death surely!

“The Bifröst is still under rebuild, how do you plan to even travel there? I cannot send you, I have little strength left to waste it for your mortal.”  
“-waste…!”  
“I used enough dark energy to help you safe your loved planet.”  
“What about the Tesseract's Power-”  
“That power is needed for the rebuild of the Bifröst! By all means, you can use it after it served its purpose, but I doubt the mortal will still be alive at that point. And there are more important issues we have to address than a single man. You know of the troubles in the Realms-“  
“I do not care for those troubles if you refuse to help my friend!” Thor shouts back enraged, gripping Mjölnir tightly and glaring up to his father. His voice echoes from the polished walls, the guards positioned between the high pillars not daring to even breath too loudly, while Frigga closes her eyes briefly.  
They stare at each other, both immobile, until eventually her quiet voice sounds through the tense silence, like a soft blanket managing to wrap around both agitated minds and stir them out of their stubborn glaring.

“We cannot simply abandon that mortal.”  
Thor tries not to sag in relief, sending his mother a grateful look, before turning back to stare at his father with something akin to triumph in his eyes.  
“He helped saving Midgard, a world that always had been under our protection. We owe him our aid, when we can give it.”  
Odin is still watching his son, not breaking eye contact.

“We can’t give it, though. If I use my strength to send you there, Asgard will be vulnerable with me weakened once more and you gone. What is more is that Jötunheim is a dangerous planet and its inhabitants will try to kill you. I do not doubt you are able to protect yourself, but you know as well as I do that even the mightiest warrior may fall to a blade in the neck. I cannot risk the safety of a whole world for one man, no matter who it may be, Thor. You have to understand that the well-being of plurality is more important than of a single life.”  
Thor is not a fool, he knows how much it costs his father to send just one person to another Realm without the Bifröst. He knows this, but he cannot abandon his friend. 

“Every life is worth saving, father.” He replies quietly, almost pleadingly so, because he father does not understand!  
“If it would be me, you would send help, would you not?”  
“This is a completely different matter-“  
“It is not! My life is not worth more than any of those around us or on Midgard or anywhere! If you would help me, why won’t you-“  
“Because you are my son and my family will always-“, uncharacteristic, Odin stops in the middle of his outburst, going still.

Thor and Frigga exchange a flickering look of bewilderment, eyes quickly snapping back to the Allfather, when he settles back into Hlidskialf after a breath.  
“I cannot send you.” He says in the end, but before Thor can exclaim in rage that this is going in circles, Odin adds: “But I do have a son I can send.”

 

To be honest, Loki expected a few more weeks, or at least days before his trial. Not that he is overly fond of decaying away in a cell before being sentenced to death- or whatsoever Odin has in store for him.  
Mildly surprised he is nevertheless, when he is being led to the throne room only a few days after being tossed in there like an inconvenience you wish out of your line of vision.

“What happened with ‘you will wait in despair and rot’?” Loki asks in amusement, glad to be rid of the mouthpiece, while he lets Thor walk him through the corridor by a chain. He feels unpleasantly much like a dog, even sans the muzzle and it annoys him that the God of thunder does not even deem him worth an answer.

“I am not feeling thoroughly rotted yet.” He adds, even if his chest seems to constrict slightly the closer they step to the great golden gates of the throne room, where doom is certainly awaiting him. Neither Thor, nor any of the guards following, say a word.  
“Does the Allfather has nothing better to do, so he uses his free time for some death sentences?”  
This time Thor's eyes do flicker to him out of the corners quickly and his lips pull down in a displeased bow. “You will hear for yourself, now stop the nervous chatter.”

Loki blinks, momentarily taken aback by the retort, before his face twists in a scowl.  
“I am not nervous, I know deaths awaits me.” He hisses back angrily. His fingers curl into themselves to hide any traitorous trembling and Thor throws him a look as if he knows exactly how much of a lie that is. Since when is that idiot able to use witty comeback?  
“You know, huh?” the blonde mumbles nonchalantly and turns towards the gates to open them, leaving Loki to stare at the back of his head.

They are being left alone, the guards closing the gates behind their backs, only Odin on Hlidskialf and Thor to his right after leaving Loki to stand before the throne, both looking down on him.  
Loki lifts a brow and gives a mock bow, before straightening up again and cocking his head to the side.

“What is it with this whole farce?” he asks after some time of receiving their judgemental stares and replying with an unimpressed grin. “If you are to send me to-“  
“Silence!” Odin bellows curtly, successfully managing to make Loki snap his mouth shut on instinct. He scowls up the old man a second later, cursing the authoritarian influence he still has on him.  
Thor lifts a brow and does not stop watching Loki as if trying to unravel something about him. Or maybe he is thinking about an especially complicated part of a children book he read this morning. It would not surprise him.

“What do you expect of your punishment?”  
Loki gives the Allfather a look, because he was just about to tell him before being bawled at.

“I expect” he drawls the word out with an unfazed grin, “that you will execute me and I would be grateful if you could postpone your long and breathtakingly tedious speeches for afterwards to spare me the torture of listening to them.”  
Thor leans back in his chair and gives Odin a look Loki cannot fully place, but it agitates him greatly for some reason. He narrows his eyes in annoyance when there is no immediate response to his answer. The two are planning something, he can see and they want to test him.

“Can I really leave the fate of one of my friends in his hands, father?”  
That makes about even less sense and Loki starts frowning, eyes turning from one to the other Aesir, as Odin replies, “You have little choice.”  
“But-“  
“Enough, Thor. Loki”

His eyes snap back to the King and he casually lifts a brow, before mockingly pushing his heels together to stand on alert. Odin doesn’t burst out in rage, but Loki can see the annoyance tugging on the old man’s wrinkles and that’s at least something.  
“You know of the secret path leading into Jötunheim.”  
Loki's heart stutters for a moment and he knows his face must betray his horror, because of all the things he imagined his father doing, he did not think of that.

He quickly hides it behind a taunting laugh, the noise echoing through the waste halls - hollow just as his chest feels right now.  
“You want to exile me to Jötunheim?” he asks him, proud that his voice does not waver, shaking his head with a grin. “What? Too old and tired to kill the monster yourself? Rather let the other beasts do it for you?”  
Odin's eye darkens in anger, Loki can see and while in the past he had feared his father’s rage, now it is better than nothing. Better than rotting in that cell, neglected. Better than being forgotten.

Still – the uneasy feeling, the momentary drop of heart, as if missing one step on a staircase, he cannot suppress. Still feeling like a child fearing its father’s hand. It is stupid and unnecessary, but he cannot put it off.

“You will go to Jötunheim.” Odin's voice bears no room for arguments or negotiation.  
Loki narrows his green eyes in defiance, curling his nose to hide the slight terror at being delivered to the Frost Giants of Utgardar. The monsters will probably rejoice and use his entrails to decorate their sorry excuse of a castle after torturing him for the next centuries.  
But even their cruelty is a far cry from what Thanos would do to him.  
He doesn't know if he should feel lucky. He would have preferred rotting in despair, to be honest. But well, what did he expect from Odin?  
“You will take one of your paths, go to Gastropnir, find the man named Anthony Stark and bring him back to Earth.”

He will- what?  
Loki blinks, successfully ripped out of his own imagination of how Helblindi, new King of Jötunheim, will play piano on his naked spine.  
Gastropnir? Stark?

His face must show his confusion just too clearly, because Thor straightens up a little and explains in his usual booming voice: “The man of Iron, Anthony Stark, landed in the Large Forest of Gastropnir, a day ago after falling through the portal you had opened in Midgard. With the Bifröst broken there is no way of traveling for any of us to safe him. You know of those hidden paths and you will go and bring Anthony Stark back safe to Midgard.”

For a long minute the dark haired just stares up to the other two.

“I will most certainly not.” He replies in the end dryly.  
“Yes you will, Loki.” Odin replies and he sounds so certain about it that Loki would not go even if this would not be a completely ridiculous idea.  
Loki snorts then, before throwing his head into his neck and barking out a humorless laugh, because he can’t believe they really think he will do what they say. Is this one of Thor’s ideas?

But they look at him with faces carved out of stone when he finally catches himself and he can only shake his head. “You cannot be serious.”  
No answer follows and Loki snorts again, lips twitching, but the longer they stare at him, the more it dawns on the god of mischief that they really do.  
They are serious. 

The smile slowly drops from his lips like acid, eyes going back and forth between them.  
“I’d rather you kill me now.” He answers flippantly, shifting his weight a bit and wishing he could cross his arms over his chest, but the shackles are a little hindering.

“No one will grant you that wish here, Loki. Either you go, or you will be thrown into the cell. No daylight ever again and no visitors, nor will you be granted with anything but your own company and your guilt in that windowless room.”  
They cannot be serious.

Loki glares up to the Allfather, gritting his teeth, trying to show how much he wants to scratch that remaining eye out of the wrinkled face.  
“And when I do as you say? When I bring him to earth? What then?” he asks, smothering a snarl and instead retreating back to smirking at this absurd charade. He can't decide whether to laugh about this matter or be enraged.

“You will return here and remain prisoner until you learn of your mistakes. You will be granted outside walks and your family is allowed to visit you.”  
Another laugh bubbles up his throat, once more thrown off about the stupidity of it all. He really means this. Did the old man lose his mind while Loki was away to conquer earth?

“I have no family.” He replies mock-surprised just to see Thor harden his jaw and it grants him some kind of satisfaction to see he is still able to hurt him.  
Odin, though, remains unfazed. “I could be persuaded to leave a few books for your entertainment.”  
“How generous.” He drawls back.  
“Indeed.”

Loki grits his teeth in frustration, before sighing and smiling, even if it’s more a bare of teeth than anything.  
Right, they really do mean this. Let’s play along to see how far they thought this through.

“Fine... Let us for a moment imagine I will agree to this idiocy. You will let me go to one of my hidden paths. Alone. Probably with supplies or whatever that human will need not to die. What on Helheim makes you think I will actually travel to Jötunheim and not just use a path to another Realm to escape? Without the Bifröst you can’t follow me. Heimdall cannot see me if I do not want him to. You will never find me again.”  
While Thor's eyes flicker to Odin a little uncertainly almost, the Allfather has the guts to actually look at him with – is that amusement in his eye?

“Maybe I will not. But you know, as well as I do, who will.” He replies after a pause, face going serious again and Loki does not need to ask who he means.  
A coldness washes over him like ice water tipped over his head and he does not exactly manages to hide the shudder running through his body, knows that all color leaves his face.  
That old bastard-

“You think I will come back into certain imprisonment rather than escaping at the prospect of freedom and the mere danger of being found by him?”  
Loki sounds taunting, mockingly so, even if he feels unnerved by Odin's stare. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but he refuses to back down.  
“Yes.”

The certainty of how the King says it makes Loki laugh out loudly. That old bastard! As if he knows a single thing about him! It makes him want to prove that he does not. Knows nothing of what he has been through, what he saw, what he did. Who does he believe to be to think for just a second that he knows what he would do?

“And what, pray tell, makes you think I will come back here? It matters little where I am when he finds me.”  
Thor shifts on his seat, but neither the Allfather nor Loki pay him much mind, the two of them staring at each other.  
“I would not let him take you.” Odin replies calmly and that is followed by stunned silence on Loki's side, because he did not expect that answer. His chest seizes with an unfamiliar pain, hot and confusing, settling in his guts and buzzing there like a living being, while he stares up to the man he called father once.  
He watches Odin, trying to find a lie, a flam in his eye, but it was always hard for him to read Odin.  
“Would you not?” Loki mocks, lips twitching, even if his throat feels tight and his heart is pounding against his ribcage.  
“No.”

It is like a direct hit to his stomach, blowing all his arguments out of his mind like the blast of air blows your neatly ordered stack of papers from the desk, when the window is being opened unexpectedly. He is left speechless.  
“You will leave in three hours. You will be given food, clothing and weapons to defend yourself against potential threats. Thor will accompany you to the edge of your chosen path.” Odin explains when Loki does not react to his words besides staring and Thor gets to his feet eagerly almost. Oddly enough, Odin does, too, which earns him puzzled looks.

When the Allfather starts to descend the stairs and walk towards Loki, the dark haired snaps out of his freeze and squares his shoulders. He frowns, smiling bemused when the old man comes to stand right in front of him. Loki will not give him the satisfaction of cowering.  
Odin lifts a hand towards him and Loki's eyes glue to it, widening the closer it comes to his face, and the moment he flicks a look to Odin's face in distrust, a finger touches his forehead and sweeps over it briefly, before the Allfather turns away again to return to his throne, leaving Loki standing there flabbergasted. 

What on Helheim...  
The sound of an appalled gasp breaks Loki's eyes away from Odin's retreating back to Thor.  
Their eyes meet and Thor looks at him with something akin to horror, before managing in a split second to conceal the emotion. Loki frowns, lifting his hands in order to touch the place Odin's finger had graced on instinct, but he halts, when his eyes catch blue.  
His fingers are blue.  
His inmost feels as if someone slowly pours hot iron into it, settling deep in his stomach as a burning clump as he stares at his fingers. Shame washes over him, heating his neck and back as he turns his head back up to glare at Odin through blood red eyes.

How can he dare to do this to him?! In front of Thor even more! Is he serious?! Are the blasted chains around his ankles, his wrist - his goddamn neck not humiliation enough?! Was the muzzle not mocking enough?! Making Thor walk him with a chain through Asgard's Halls like a lowly dog?

A quiet snap follows after a dismissive gesture of the Allfather and the shackles fall off to land with dull clangs on the polished ground. The sound reverberates in the absolute silence of the room. Loki curls his fingers into fists by his sides, the tension enough to make them shake. He feels Thor still staring and he turns his eyes to him, lifting his chin in challenge, refusing to back down.

“What is it, brother dear? Do I have something on my face?” he sneers at him sarcastically, but before the blonde can retort, Odin chimes in, “This is the protection I will give you for your journey.”  
“Ah, well, of course, for they surely will not recognize me with the hair.” Loki snarls back, absolutely furious about the indignity. Odin only lifts the brow of his remaining eye.

“Jötunheim does not consist of Utgard only. The few that had seen you like this back then and know who you are - you will not even cross paths with them in Gastropnir. When you are lucky you will not meet any Jötunn. But if you do, they will less likely kill you, if you look like one of them. Even a starving wolf does not kill one of their own.”  
“Turn me back.” Loki grits out, his fingers curling into fists where they are hidden in his armpits.  
“No.”  
“I’d rather be killed than walk around like this!”  
"This!" Odin shouts suddenly and Loki and Thor both straighten up, Thor finally ripping his eyes off Loki to turn to his father.  
"-This is you, Loki." the Allfather replies more quietly now and there is something almost soft bleeding into his face that makes Loki want to scream and in the same breath leaves him feeling utterly stripped off all defenses.  
"And I should have never taught you otherwise. Leave now and prepare for your journey."

 

The people are tiptoeing around him, as if he is walking in a circle of broken glass and they are barefooted.

He scoffs and smirks at the servants and guards that see him, some simply freezing, others gasping and stepping away. He sees fear, rage and disgust on their faces, not concealed in the least and Loki can only laugh. They fear him. They will not dare to mock him ever again.

Thor ushered all servants out of the room he brought Loki to after one of them accidentally stepped into a weapon holder while watching Loki in passing, almost impaling himself on one of the spears. Loki laughed at the whole ordeal, but even to him it sounded hollow and lacking any amusement.

Fools, all of them, he thinks to himself, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling of... something pressing his lungs together at every other breath, while he stands by the long table, where items of all kinds are lined up for him to examine and either take or leave.  
Healing stones and fire runes, small, hand-sized daggers and knifes. Water, concealed into small, blue glass marbles, food, of course, ranging from dried fruits and vegetables to jerky and bread, probably enchanted enough to stay edible for a time.

He lets one of the water marbles roll between his blue fingertips, wondering absentminded why they put so much effort into this drama.  
Do they really think he will go to Jötunheim once they let him leave through one of his paths? Are they that credulous?  
And even if he will (which he is most definitely not going to), why are they willing to risk it? Waste so much magic? Risk him escaping?  
For a mere mortal!

He has no doubts that only Thor was able to convince the Allfather to even care enough to send him off to this suicide mission. Thor always managed to make Odin do what he wanted. There yet has to be a wish not granted to the great Thor, as it seems.

He can hear Thor behind him, even if the blonde obviously tries to make as little sound as possible, while Loki begins to fill his bag with various items. The bottomless pouch swallows everything, staying light and empty for anyone to carry, but only talented fingers can bring the treasures back up.  
“How is it even possible that Anthony landed in Jötunheim?” Thor asks into the room. Loki ignores him in favor of inspecting some boots and putting them into the bag.  
“Take the clothes, too” Thor's voice sounds from where he stepped up to the table as well after some time, grabbing fabrics and holding them towards Loki on arm's length.

The dark haired watches him with a lifted brow, before bursting out a laugh. Thor startles and then stares angrily and confused, while Loki steps closer and takes the fabrics, making sure to try and touch the other ones fingers.

Thor snaps his hands back as if being burned, eyebrows knitting together, while Loki calmly folds the clothing and lets them vanish into the pouch.  
“Afraid I will give you frostbite, brother dear?” he asks him with a smile.  
“We’re not brothers” Thor's replies and Loki can’t place the tone of his voice, but it matters little, the words still surprise him. Thor was always the one insisting on the fact, that they are still brothers.

“Ah.. So, now when you see me in my true form, you finally understand biology, too?” Loki chuckles, but Thor just frowns.  
“I understood the moment I knew you lied to me about father’s death and about mother refusing to allow me to return. I understood the moment you sent the Destroyer to kill me. A brother would not have done that. A brother would have never done that, Loki.”  
“Oh please, stop with the sentiments, you know they are lost on me.” Loki replies with a dry snort, rolling his eyes, “And it is not like the Destroyer really killed you.”  
“He shattered my face, Loki!”  
“Did your brain have a nice tumble, seeing it has so much room inside your head?”  
“You hit me with Gungnir! It is made to kill gods!”  
“Yes, that was much fun, I remember.”

Thor steps closer, anger tightening the skin around his eyes much similar to back then in their childhood and youngster years, when Loki said something too smart for him to understand. Loki just lifts a brow and stands his ground, smirking. The flare of rage dies out again, leaving something like tiredness on Thor's face.

“I always forgave your lies and mischief. I would have forgiven you again.”  
“Then you are even more of a fool than I thought and that is nearly impossible.”

He can see the hurt in Thor's eyes as the older squares his shoulders and tightens his jaw. It does not amuse him to rile him up like it had in the past.

“Why are you so bitter?” Thor asks him gravely, as if genuinely wondering. Loki tips his head to the side. Is he really asking that?  
“I do not know, maybe the fact that everyone lied to me for my whole life has something to do with it.” He replies blithely, but there is a sharpness to his voice he doesn't hide.

Thor just frowns harder. “I never lied to you. I did not know of your heritage, either. And even if I would, I would not have cared.”  
“Of course not. It is not like you ‘will hunt those monster down and slay them, just like you did, father!’” Loki reminds him with a playful childish voice and the smile of a mad little child that dreams of killing before even being able to hold a sword.

It visibly takes Thor back, being reminded of what he said all those years ago, “If I had known-“ he starts, but Loki is fed up with this conversation, with his excuses and fruitless attempts at dodging the responsibilities of his words and actions. Of him playing the poor victim.

“It would not have changed a single thing, yes, you already said that. It would not have changed how you always mocked everyone who rather uses his head instead of violence. How you loved to let your precious friends bully the magicians, the scribes, me, making fun of my magic tricks, as you called them. Making fun of my fighting style, because I learned it from mother. It would not have changed you ripping the books out of my fingers to drag me into your suicidal, stupid adventures, where all you and your friends did were travel around, abuse your privileges and wreak havoc over all nine Realms in the name of peace! It does not change that you fool dragged your friends and me into one danger after the other and me and my magic tricks had to safe your sorry face times and times again! And who earned the praise for killing this monster or bringing that artifact to our treasure rooms-”  
“I never mocked you and your magic!”  
“You never defended me against their mockery, either!”  
“I never claimed their praise for myself!”  
“You never shared it!”  
“Stop twisting the past to fit in with your self-pitying story!“  
“… I do believe this is enough, do you not think?”

Both men wince, Thor whirling around to where Frigga is standing in the room with her hands folded together in front of her, able to enter and walk towards them without any of them even noticing her presence.

While Thor bows his head in respect and steps towards her to greet her with a small kiss on the cheek, Loki simply stares at her.  
He did not see her since being returned to Asgard and when their eyes meet, Loki does not hold her gaze and looks to the side, returning to the task of putting the needed supplies into the bag. He ignores the two Aesir in favor of inspecting a rather sharp dagger, but he listens intently to their mumbling, sadly not able to make out anything useful.

A few moments later, Thor steps into Loki's line of vision once more, positioning himself there like a dirty stain on a white wall.  
“You will bring Anthony back safe, you hear me?” Thor's voice is hard and when Loki ignores him solely out of spite, the God of Thunder strides over to him and grabs his shoulder, turning him around. Loki gives him an innocent grin.

“You will bring him back safe and if you dare hurt him, Loki...” the god growls warningly, but Loki only snorts at the empty threat, “Than what? You will make me do your astronomy homework again?”

Thor's eyes hilariously enough flicker to Frigga at that, as if afraid of her knowing Loki did that when they were children, before returning to glare at him.  
“Then I will personally bring you to the green Berserker of Midgard to play with.”  
While Loki feels momentary taken back to where that brainless creature literally whipped the floor with him, Thor lets go and surprisingly enough leaves the room with a last look to Frigga.  
Loki turns his back to her to walk down the table once more, even if he has everything he needs already. He can feel her eyes on him like tiny needles picking his neck.

“You should take some coin, too. Gold helps more than a knife often enough.” she says, as she steps to the table, letting her fingertips run over a small bag of coins. Loki ignores her.

A hand on his arm makes him halt and turn his head enough to watch her, as she looks up to him. Her eyes are so full of reproach, it makes the hair on his neck stand up in defiance and he shakes her hand off in annoyance, turning his attention to a pair of light gloves that keep the hands comfortably warm, no matter the temperature. He takes them into his fingers and examines them, as if not knowing exactly what they do.  
“Try to see this as a chance, not a punishment.”

His eyes flicker to her, mouth pulling into a small sneer. “I have the choice between eternal doom in a cell and eternal doom in a cell with a window when I survive my trip to a planet where every creature wants to kill me. What a tremendous chance.”  
He can hear her sigh even though he is still not looking at her. “Loki, you tried to wreak genocide on a whole race-“  
“I did the same as Thor. Just that my method was actually successful.” his blue hands curl around the soft gloves and he shoves them into the bag, before stepping away from her and further down the table.

“You know you are not here because of that. Thor was foolish, I will not deny and he received punishment for what he did. But the attack back on Utgard you cannot compare-“  
“Oh, so because his plan failed, he is being less punished, of course, that makes sense, thank you for explaining this to me.”  
“Stop twisting the happenings, Loki, you know as well as I do that this is not true.” She replies calmly.  
“I could have whipped them out so easily! I could have eliminated the threat before war would have happened! I could have taken care of my brothers-“  
“Do you think me a fool? That declaration of war was as much your fault as Thor's.”

Loki’s head snaps up to her in astonishment, because she never raised her voice at him before. She is not glaring, but her eyes are hard and her mouth a thin line.

“You led the Jötunn into Asgard that day to ruin Thor's coronation, inciting him enough to make him travel to Utgard for revenge, knowing exactly what he would do. You told the guard to report to Odin, instead of trying to hold his idiocy back yourself. You knew Thor would risk at least enough trouble for the Allfather to be enraged and you knew he would punish him for this.”

Loki can do little but stare at her, face frozen.

Of course she is right. He did know all this would happen or at least in similar ways. He always knows, more or less, what his mischief might cause. But if she knew this, why did she not say a word against him to Odin? Why did she not take him to task for what he did?

“Why did you give Gungnir to me, then, if you knew so well of all my follies?” he asks in the end, voice dripping in sarcasm, seeing it no use to try and play with her. Frigga is sharp. He gets that from her. She always sees through his lies and flams.

Her face softens then and she steps closer once more, her eyes dark with emotions Loki cannot decipher.  
“Because I had to see what you would do with that power given to you.” She whispers quietly. “And what did you do? You tried to kill your own brother, destroy a whole Realm and risk the Allfather's life by letting Laufey into Asgard.”

It is like a blow to the hollows of the knees, but he manages not to stir at her words.  
She just tested him? That was why she gave him Gungnir?

“You said it was my right. You said I should be king. I led Laufey here, so I could kill him easily where he did not suspect! I did not know that he would call for war when Thor killed a few of his! I just wanted to show you that Thor wasn’t ready to be king! I just wanted to protect my home! I wanted to finish what Thor did not!”

I wanted you to be proud of me, he screams in his mind. Foolish him had wanted their approval for once, for a single time in his life! Wanted to prove himself worthy to call Odinson! Wanted to be better, for once, than his brother!

He is furious, the rage clawing at his mind like a thirsty beast on raw meat. So she betrayed him, too, in the end. Just like the rest of his so-called family, using him and testing him and tossing him into the void when he did not dance like they wish!  
“I know that.” She sighs sadly and steps closer once more to put her hands to where he has curled his own into fists, wrapping her fingers around them. He tears his hands away from her with an enraged scoff.

“I know you wanted to right your wrong… I know you did not expect your mischief against Thor leading to war. That does not excuse you risking your brother’s life by sending the Destroyer after him out of spite. It does not excuse you lying to him about Odin's death... it does not excuse you trying to extinguish a whole Realm... It does not excuse the happenings on Midgard.”

He does not need her sympathy, her pity. And he does not need her trying to explain why they send him off to a suicide mission.  
It idly occurs to him that she addresses what happened after his fall into the void as 'happenings' and not as his actions. She is the first to phrase it like that.  
He watches her and she replies his look as if knowing exactly what he thinks. As if she knows what happened after his fall, when he landed in Thanos' hands. Or at least she thinks she does. Loki doubts anyone can imagine.

Something must show on his face and with light surprise he sees tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. They do not get shed and after a second they are gone again. Maybe he only imagined them.

“I know what it takes for you to fear someone so fiercely, Loki.” there is a small pause, she looks like she wants to say more of the matter, but thinks better of it, “...I have read of that scepter and its influence. I did, but I will need time to sooth the Allfather's anger about your actions. You should have come to us for help, instead of letting it control you, letting him control you. You could have asked Thor for help on Earth-”  
“None of you would have-” he interrupts in an attempt to scoff, but she cuts him short,  
“Don't. Don't even try to lie to me about this. We would have helped you. You did not trust us to, you were too proud to ask for help. You were too weak to fight against it and don't even try to deny it.”

Loki grits his teeth, anger roaring in his mind at being called weak. If she knew what he went through, what that monster did to him, to his mind, to his soul- but somewhere deep down, deeper than he himself dares to go, there is a small voice that whispers persistently into his mind.  
She is right, isn't she?

But he silences it and instead he huffs and grins maliciously. “I always wondered where Thor gets his foolishness from... It must be his mother.” he states, seeing her eyes dim in pain, but feeling nothing but scorn in his heart about it.

“We are showing you that we, after all, are willing to try and trust you. I need you to show us that we can trust you, too.”

Again there is this hot piercing pain in his chest, squeezing his heart and for a foolish second he wants to forget what he is, who he is, what the Mad Titan did to him, wants that beautiful lie back, that he is the son of Odin and Frigga and brother to Thor and nothing else. But then he remembers all the times he was belittled, mocked, forgotten and neglected in Thor's shadow, how all they ever did was lie to him his whole life. How all they needed him for was to grow to love them and be their puppet king of Jötunheim. How their love was a lie. How they fed him up with stories of blue monsters eating their own children, when he was one of those monsters himself all along and they knew.  
How he fell. The void.  
The pain.

There is no way back.

Frigga lets her eyes briefly wander over his features, maybe for the first time seeing him in this form. He feels the brief urge to shield himself from it, as she reaches up for his face like Odin did. Her hand comes to touch his cheek. The touch is like a burn and he pulls his face away from it. He doesn’t want her sentiments. He does not need her pity. Her feigned love. He doesn't want it. He rather has her hate, at least he knows it is a real feeling.

“Come back safe, son.” She says, letting her hand fall back to her side.  
“You're not my mother” he replies, lifting his chin in defiance.  
She watches him for a second longer before turning around to leave him alone.

 

“How does this work?” Thor asks, as he leans against the stone, arms crossed. “Where exactly will you go? Where is that secret portal?”  
“If I tell you it is hardly secret any longer, isn't it?” Loki replies over his shoulder and his lips curl into a smirk at the frustrated expression he is met with.  
“How will I know you will not escape to another Realm?”  
“You won't. Isn't that refreshingly spontaneous?”

Thor's face tells as much and he pushes himself from the stone to frown at him in a way he probably thinks is intimidating. Loki only wonders if he can manage to make those eyebrows meet before he leaves.

“You will take good care of him, Loki. He is a good man and a worthy warrior, treat him with respect. He did found out about your plans first and he was the one ending the Chitauri's attack.”  
“You really think that will make me take good care of him?” Loki asks dryly.

He always wonders how Thor manages to say the wrong thing in a conversation. It must be a gift. Before the God of Thunder can reply something, though, Loki leaves him standing to vanish through a lean gap between the walls of stones around them leading into complete darkness.

He can go to Alfheim or even Vanaheim. Those large Realms will grant him shelter, he can try to hide there. He will need to shift for long amounts of time, though and that will cost him much energy. It would have been easier to hide in clothing or the like in his Asir form, but like this?  
He needs to permanently shape himself another body.

'Protection' – pah. This all is only Odin's plan to make it especially hard for Loki to get out of this madness. But even looking like this, there is more of a chance for him to survive in one of the other Realms. Anywhere really but Jötunheim! If Helblindi catches wind of him being there? He can just as well sign his death sentence.

Maybe that is Odin's plan all along. Maybe that mortal did not even land in Gastropnir, or maybe he did, but is dead by now and Odin sends him there to make himself look like the good, forgiving father figure he thinks himself to be, but in reality he just doesn't want to dirty his own hands with Loki's blood.  
'I will not let him take you', the words echo in his mind and he grips the cold stones under his fingers, while he stares at the small rip between dimensions hanging in the air only he can see. He can hide between the great shadows of stones until he can be sure Thor is gone and leave for any other secret path but this one.

He could have brought Thor to the path to Vanaheim instead, too, it is not like the blonde would have seen the difference, would have known. He did not, though.

'I need you to show us that we can trust you, too' Frigga's voice is gentle and calm like always, and it makes his entrails twist like poisonous snakes.  
He cannot truly say why he in the end steps into the rip.

Maybe he does not care whether he will die here, in Jötunheim or by the hands of Thanos.  
Maybe he wants to test if this is all just a lie, so he will at least know.  
Maybe he will find Stark and return him and maybe he will be safe for some time from the wrath of that creature.  
Maybe, if he plays along, he really will earn their trust once more. If he plays along, brings the human to Earth and returns home like the good dog they want him to be, they might grant him outside walks, grant him visitors. Grant him the possibility of another chance at getting a hold of the Tesseract. He lost the scepter, but there is something far more valuable in Asgard's armory. If he manages to get a hold of it. Maybe his life is not doomed yet. Or maybe he is just bored. He does not really know himself.


	3. Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading and giving kudos and commenting, I hope you enjoy the following chapter!

It is fucking cold. He never was this cold in his whole life.

His fingers are killing him, while he tries to work them back into the gloves. “You need to go. In. There- god dammit, I really kind of need you for my work, so” he mutters to himself, while wriggling the stiff fingers back into the meager rest of his armor. The first one is more or less easy game, but with one on and the other still to go?

God, he really wishes Jarvis was here to peel him out or puzzle him into his suit.  
He is pretty spoiled, he thinks, before exclaiming in victory when he masters the other glove as well and can attach the sorry excuse of wire-work to his arc reactor. Not his best work, he won't lie, but it will hopefully keep his finger warm and protect him from potential giant smurfs.  
The strange white fur he snatched off the giants back itches, but it keeps him at least a little warmer around the middle, where he had fastened it with his belt around his waist. True fashion. It is not like the guy will need it anymore. He looks male at least to Tony.

Its big enough to use as a blanket wrap around his whole body. Sadly, Papa Smurf there lacks any boots, so he has to stay in his sneakers which are already soaked through and clumped with snow. He is able to put some of the heat isolation around it, fasten it with useless wires – but he doubts that will keep him warm for long. Long enough to find some kind of civilization, hopefully.

Tony sighs, staring down at the pitiful remains of his suit. It hurts somewhere, to leave it here, but he has no fucking idea where he is and he can't take all the loose parts with him. It still feels like abandoning.  
He rubs his arms and scratches his neck, where the fur is tickling, before turning his back on where he landed to start walking.

His teeth shatter, while he stomps through the mostly dark forest. There is... some odd kind of light above his head, hidden by the tree crowns (they reach higher into the sky than any tree Tony had ever seen), but he can't make out what it is. The sky is freckled with stars, there are no clouds, but still this light – like a floodlight almost and that just cannot be the moon. It’s too bright and bluish for that. And too… bundled, somehow.

The crowns of the trees are too compact to really see through and so Tony gives up after almost running against one of the tree trunks and instead concentrates on walking.

His muscles are trembling and his heart his hammering loudly against his rips. Probably to keep him warm, he thinks absentminded, arms crossed over his chest, the metal of the gloves digging uncomfortably into the softness of his armpits.

Where the fuck is he?

Tony swears when his foot catches a root hidden from the snow and he stumbles, almost losing his balance.  
“Shit- fucking- God!” he curses loudly as he staggers through the ankle deep snow, turning around to glare at the heap he left. Curling his metal fingers tightly he takes a deep breath and turns back around to continue his walk. He thinks it better not to wonder too much why he is here, why he is in a freaking forest, why he is not in space anymore or at least in Manhattan. What happened, how long he was out, what was of the attack, of the Aliens. Of his friends- colleagues, whatever. Of the others.

Thinking too much about that makes his heart start jumping irregularly again, makes his skin crawl and a clammy feeling attacks him out of the shadows, tackling him like a pouncing animal, leaving him gasping for air.  
Don’t think about it, he tells himself sternly, concentrate on walking and finding a way out of this forest. You can think about that later, when you are out of here.

So instead he lets his mind wander to safe topics. New additions and versions of his suit. He could build one just for this kind of terrain, could he not? Better for the cold. And one that can stay underwater for longer, maybe even dive in deeper than any submarine. Or one for space- No, no don’t think of space now.

That is how he spends the next… well, hours? He cannot tell, his watch is broken just as practically everything else he possess. At least his arc reactor glows busily as always. It must be the middle of night, he figures- It is surely too dark for day. But how can that be? It was definitely day when they fought in Manhattan. He wasn’t out for hours – he would have frozen to death, if that was the case.

 

After what he believes must be centuries of walking, Tony’s legs start to continuously tremble more and more violently. His knees are weak and he knows-, he knows when he sits down now, he probably won’t get up again and falling asleep here sounds like a shit idea.  
Like pillars the trees around him grow high into the sky. They are black and unmoving in the darkness, giant, ugly shapes and something itches under Tony’s skin when he watches them too long. The branches hang low, grabbing after him like arms.

He shudders and shakes his head. God, he is starting to hallucinate already. They’re just trees, Tony, get your shit together. They still look like outstretched arms, long needles hanging to both sides like scraps of ripped fabric and Tony’s feet pick up speed.

It’s silent. The only thing he can hear is the shattering of his teeth and the shuffling of his feet dragging through the snow. There isn’t even a breeze. No scary, howling wind or telltaling rustling in the shadows like in the movies. It makes it all so much more unreal and has Tony on edge.  
The soft rippling of snowflakes stops somewhere between one hour and the other. He thinks that it is probably a good thing. His thoughts are getting slow, viscous and stretched out like gum, while he walks and walks and just keep walking, Tony.

 

He wants to sit down, badly. He knows he should not, but after another couple of minutes, he just does not care anymore. With a groan Tony stumbles over to a gathering of snapped trees to his right. They look ripped out and tossed around, roots standing up like outstretched, bony fingers in the air. But they are covered in snow, so they must be lying here for a while already.   
Tony does not even want to know who or what did that, as he lets himself sink onto one of the trunks. He slips on the snow, though and lands on his ass on the ground, which results in swearing and a bitch hurting tailbone. Groaning he lets his back fall against the tree he just slipped from, letting his head tip into his neck, until he can rest it there as well. It’s just too heavy.

His heart has slowed down again and his teeth are not shattering anymore. That’s probably not a good sign. His feet are numb and when he looks down to them he tries to rap them a little together to get the snow off. His nose is numb as well as his ears and he lets his head fall back to look up into the sky.  
His breath fogs above his eyes and it hurts to inhale through his nose, it hurts to inhale through his mouth, his windpipe is one single, aching mess. It feels like trying to breath around a shrapnel in his throat, in his lungs. He feels tired, drained.

His eyelids are heavy and he can feel himself drifting on the edge of falling asleep. He is balancing on the border, ready to tip into the wrong direction, down into the dark abyss of unconsciousness.

A shudder runs down the back of his neck, has his hairs bristle up and his eyes fly open again, jolting out of his daze. He sits upright before he knows it and turns his head, heart back to hammering against his ribcage. It takes him a few seconds to realize what startled him back into awareness.  
A low sound vibrates through the air, deep and loud enough to shakes the ground and for a ridiculous moment Tony thinks it’s an earthquake maybe, but no. No, it is really not.

He exhales and forgets to take another breath as he stares ahead between the trees and fixes on a giant, hunched shadow. And when he thought Papa Smurf was giant – this thing makes him look like a fucking Barbie doll.   
He thinks his heart momentarily stops beating while he gapes at the shape, which is definitely alive. Very much so, because it watches him out of huge, red eyes and its trembling almost, as it shifts from paw to paw. Ready to pounce.

Shit.

He probably never was this fast to get off his ass and run. For thinking moments ago that he will never take another step, he surely can get the fuck out of here pretty quickly. He doesn’t make the mistake to look behind him to really see what is bursting through the trees after him, he only knows that it is and that it definitely does not want an autograph. It’s huge and wants to eat him, or at least main him.

“Shit, shit, shit-“he curses under his breath, hightailing through the trees. He is pretty grateful for them now, seeing they are probably the only thing slowing down whatever the fuck is after him.

As if luck is having fun at fucking with him, the forest begins to clear.

He notices it too late and suddenly he is bursting through the tree line and is standing on a waste clearance. It takes him aback enough to stutter for a second, before he hears the heavy pounding of paws and the splintering of wood. Tony curses and starts to run again. The other side of the clearance is so fucking far away, but he pushes himself, he can make it, he can, he just has to get there-

A roar shakes the ground once more and Tony knows it’s a happy –there is my food, directly in front of my snout- roar, because that thing just broke through the clearance as well and can see him, practically illuminated by the bluish floodlight in the sky and Tony’s own personal –here, here eat me- glow-circle in the middle of his chest. He must look like the freaking bonus level in a Zelda game, bouncing through the semi-darkness like a drunk firefly.  
The floor is shaking and Tony knows, suddenly, that he won’t make it across the clearance. It’s too far away and that thing is too close.

Fuck. Fuck, when he is going to die, he at least doesn’t want to be pounced in the back and ripped to tiny Billionaire shish kebab.  
So he turns around.

He kind of wishes he did not when he sees what it is- And that is pounding towards him. It looks like a polar bear and the Yeti had a baby and that baby landed in nuclear waste, because there are definitely a few too many eyes and legs attached, where nature should not have put them. It looks so fucking unreal that Tony wants to laugh for a horrible moment, hysteria bubbling up his throat, because of course he is going to get eaten by a fucking impossibility of existence!

He is going to get killed by a giant monster right out of World of Warcraft.

Maybe he really fell asleep and this is his last dream before he dies. His brain could have at least thought of something nice before going out. Why not a beach party?

Well, if he is going to die (whether from the cold and an imaginative monster or a real monster), he will make damn sure to be a bitch about it.   
Standing his ground, Tony activates both repulsers on his hands with a quick press to the wrist buttons and then holds them towards the thing. It's maybe a good 10 seconds away from him. I  
t’s too big, Tony knows the blasts will not kill it. Probably only slow him down for a few moments. He thinks about his diffusers – but he doubts they will help him here. This thing is a bulldozer and some shiny bright light will maybe blind it for some moments, but not stop it.

He can hear and feel the repulsers charging up, growing hot and starting to glow. Before they are ready though, he hears something between the drumming of paws bigger than his head and his own thundering heart.

Something cracks, loudly – under his feet. Another crack, low, deep. It’s a noise that normally makes you panic, because it’s the sound of ice breaking under you.

In a split second Tony changes the directions of his repulsers and aims on the ground directly in front of the beast. The blasts knocks him from his feet, throws him backwards, he lands on his back, hits his head on the ice and it knocks the air out of his lungs. He rolls himself onto his stomach, just in time to see the bear like thing vanish with a screech between breaking ice, water and snow sloshing and spraying everywhere.   
Snow and pieces of ice fly through the air and the ground keeps cracking and breaking. Tony swears, when the ice under him starts groaning and he activates his repulsers again, staying flat on his stomach, praying to all that is holy, stretching them in front of his head. A few seconds later they shoot and the force of the blast sends him sliding across the ice, away from where everything is crumbling and breaking.

They drive him far away enough he deems it safe to jump to his feet and start running again.   
All he can think is run, run, run, because the ice is still crashing and groaning and he can hear the thing trashing against the forces of ice and water trying to suck it under.

He never felt so happy to reach a tree line and he dives into the forest once more, not stopping in his mad dash.  
Tony doesn’t stop running for a long time. He probably left the lake behind him by several miles already, but he does not care. The trees around him are not as thick and close standing anymore, but it still feels more protected with them.

His legs give out without any warning and he doesn’t even have the energy to get his hands in front of him before he falls flat on his face in the snow. Oddly enough he doesn’t register any pain. It doesn’t even come to his mind that it should hurt, that he should get back up and instead he just lies there, pressing his hot face into the snow, panting.

Get up, he tells himself, trying to imagine it to be Pepper’s voice, or Natasha's. Get back up, you did not just survive the giant mutant bear to die here now. No dying today, Tony.  
With a groan he shoves his gloved palms down to the sides of his chest and slowly pushes himself up again. His arms start shaking immediately, his shoulders scream, but he works his body into a kneeling position. His vision blurs and he feels nausea hit his stomach, but his throat is probably too busy sucking in the razor sharp air that cuts his lungs into little shreds to think about vomiting.

"... I did not think I would find you alive." a voice echoes from somewhere to his left.

Tony snaps up and whirls around on his knees to the source of it and when he sees a blue shape between two trees, he blinks. What the actual fuck... It looks like Papa Smurf - just with hair and definitely smaller.  
Tony's left finger presses the button of his right glove and he curls his hand into a fist to hide the beginning of the repulsers charging up again. Whatever it is, it is talking, and talking is always good. Talking means no immediate killing, most of the time.

"What can I say, I love to surprise my fans. I can't see that good with the darkness and all that, sorry if I have no idea who you are" he smiles his bright, business smile. He likes things that talk to him– you can manipulate them better. The figure pushes itself from the tree it had been leaning against, before stepping into the light.

Before it can even open its mouth again, Tony puts one foot on the ground for stabilization and shoots it in the face.  
He doesn't wait to see what damage he caused, instead jumps back to his feet and forces himself to start running again. And he thought he could not take another step – his body is fucking awesome.   
He wonders idly how much adrenaline he has left, letting his gloves recharge again. He does not have that much to waste. He doesn't know how much damage his arc reactor took, how much power it has left, without Jarvis telling him. He has one or two more aces up his sleeve, but he doesn't want to waste them. They are his last resorts.

He gets about twenty seconds of running before being tackled from behind out of nowhere. Before he knows it, his face is being pressed into the ground and there is something painfully digging into his back. 

“-You worthless mortal...” a voice hisses and Tony can't shake off the familiarity of it. With a grunt he feels himself being pushed onto his back, a hand seizes his throat and he chokes in panic. The figure looming over him is illuminated by the ghostly blue of his reactor. Its eyes are completely red, reflecting the light and its skin is so blue it looks simply unreal.

He is so occupied with seeing all the differences, that he doesn't recognize the face, until it speaks again: “Did your brain already froze enough for you to lose your short term memory?”

Tony blinks up to the guy that is kneeling over him, one hand on his neck. Pardon?  
He narrows his eyes, before it hits him all at once.

“.. Loki?” he rasps out in a mix of confusion and surprise.

The blue version of Loki gives him a look like one might give a slug you just stepped on the pavement.

“Yes.”

Tony shoots him in the face again.


	4. Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of talking and little trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for another panic attack and a lot of swearing

After the god flies off him, Tony shoots a second time into his general direction, before turning around to run once more.  
He does not really think he will get far and he is right, because the next thing he knows, he is being grabbed by the shoulder, whirled around, pinned against a tree and has a snarling, blue smurf far closer to his face than he is comfortable with.

“Oh, Loki! Fancy seeing you here, sorry for not recognizing you, seeing you are _fucking blue_ ,” Tony smiles brightly, when fingers curl around his neck, but before he can lift his gloves again, he feels first the left than the right being ripped from his hands.  
He has a second to panic, thinking the wires will maybe damage the arc reactor, but nothing happens to the glow in his chest and the gloves get thrown away, stripping him off his weapons.  
His eyes follow them a little sorrowed, because there goes his only chance at quickly defending himself.  
“You _little_ -“ Loki seethes, curling his fingers around his neck enough to make Tony’s eyes water.  
“Get your fucking hands off me,” Tony replies and his fingers fly up to the God’s face to press his thumbs into those fucking red eyes. He doubts he will be able to really hurt him, but as it seems, it surprises the other enough to take a step back and let go of his throat.  
Tony is glad for the tree in his back, keeping him upright and he gives the God a smirk to hide the minor breakdown he is having.  
Fuck. What the fuck is Loki doing here? And why, by Christ, is he blue?! He looks like that ugly thing he stole the fur from.

Tony hears himself panting as he leans against the tree, Loki standing there unmoving with his typical aloof expression returning slowly after blinking a few times.  
He is not killing him after Tony shot him in the face?  
Why is he not killing him?  
“Why the fuck are you blue?” he blurts out instead, because he can’t wrap his head around that.

The God stares at him without blinking and it’s unnerving, causing Tony to continue, “Are you cold? Do you Gods turn blue in snow? … Are you actually a smurf? Thor said something about you being adopted. What is it with the red eyes? Can you see better in the dark like a bat? Wait, is this how you look at night?”  
Seeing he was chased by a mutant bear moments ago, attacked by Aliens and sparred with the God of Thunder, nothing is impossible.  
“It is a disguise, you fool,” The dark haired replies after a few seconds, rolling those weird eyes at him, as if Tony is really annoying. Well, sorry princess?  
“Fancy,” Tony huffs back curtly, curling his nose.  
They stare at each other a little longer.  
The longer they stand like this, the more stupid he feels.

“Okay, really, what the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, titling his head, trying to get that selfish, narcissistic bastard to talk so he can think of a plan to get away, maybe use one of his blinding guns he still has, while Loki waxes poetry about his perfect being and that everyone should kneel to him or whatever. Sadly Loki seems not in the chattering mood, because he just tilts his head a little to one side and smirks. It has the hair on Tony’s neck stand up.  
“I am here to bring you back to Midgard, Stark.”  
It takes Tony a second to realize that he means earth and that just makes next to no sense, because what?  
“You want to bring me…” and it hits Tony.  
He is not on earth. The thing that attacked him, the smurf giant, the strange light in the sky- He is not on earth. He is not on earth?  
**Fuck.**  
“Why?”, because why the ever-living fuck would Loki come here to play taxi?  
The God inspects his fingernails, as if the conversation is already boring him and excuse me for not immediately falling to my knees to worship you, Tony thinks sarcastically.  
“Thor thought you worth saving, so I was sent here to take you with me.”

He makes it sounds like it’s an annoying inconvenience for him and it’s just so surreal that Tony kind of wants to laugh, or cry or maybe a bit of both.  
At least the asshole is not seconds away from throwing him out of a window for now. Knowing him though, Tony has next to no plan if that changes in a split second, when he says the wrong thing. Good thing there are no windows around here.

“What about Thor himself? Dentist appointment?”  
His eyes flicker to his gloves, but with dismay he sees that they are not only too far away, but crumbled by inhumanly strong fingers beyond repair. That fucking bastard, he seethes in his mind.

“The Allfather does not wish to risk Thor’s safety by sending him to Jötunheim.”  
“Yutun-what?”  
“Jötunheim. The Realm you are standing on.”  
He makes it sounds as if Tony is especially stupid just to annoy him. He kind of wants to shoot him in the face again, but sadly that is out of question. Anything is out of question. He can’t defend himself against the other, if he decides to kill him because he breaths the wrong way or something. None of the weapons or tools he has with him have nearly enough power to take Loki out. What makes Tony wonder is why he did not already kill him for trying to shoot his face off.

“Okay… I landed in Yutunhym-“  
“Jötunheim.”  
“Right, Jötunhyme… You guys noticed that and Thor, thank him by the way, wanted to help me and he sends you?” because, yes, that does sounds really convincing.  
“The Allfather decided to send me.”  
“Ah yes, of course.” Tony nods.  
Loki watches him for a moment, smirking, “You don’t believe me.”  
“Not for a fucking second.” Tony replies with what he hopes is a mirroring of Loki’s big, fat smile.

The God chuckles and shifts his weight, before shrugging nonchalantly. “Well, if you prefer staying here, by all means…” he leaves the rest unspoken and Tony narrows his eyes.  
Oh, that’s what he is playing at?

“Yeah, I’d prefer that, actually. So, bye.” He replies blithely and pushes himself up from the tree, proud that his legs don’t buckle as he turns his back on the God and starts walking.  
If Loki wants him dead, he will kill him no matter whether he turns his back on him or cowers at his feet. And even if Tony has no fucking idea what exactly is going on and why the fuck Loki is here – there has to be a reason for him to be and for not killing him immediately. He has some kind of fucked up plan and Tony will not fall for it.

“Oh, please. You think you can play games with me?”  
Tony tries not to look to his right, where the God comes up to walk next to him with a grin and his hands behind his back, watching him. It’s the most innocent posture he has ever seen him in and it makes Tony just all the more suspicious. Does that fucker think him an idiot?  
“I think I want you to leave me the fuck alone and if you don’t put some distance here I will punch you on the nose.”

The asshole has the guts to laugh at it, as if Tony’s threats are no more than a joke for him. Sadly, that’s probably right and it is so annoying Tony wants to scratch his eyes out.  
“You’re about to kneel over, freeze to death or die of dehydration, whatever you prefer first. And if not that, you will sooner or later cross paths with something that will kill you.” Loki reminds him lightly, and thank you, I did not need that, Tony grits his teeth, before taking a deep breath when he feels panic and desperation claw on his mind.  
“Already had that, two times. A giant bear and a bigger and hairless version of you. Both successfully sent to hell.”

He can’t help it – he wants Loki to know that he is not a defenseless baby. And if he had anything to fight with, Loki would surely be the first to feel it now. Sadly, he only has his emergency tools in his pockets, some diffusers, a sorry excuse of a repulser prototype in his pockets he managed to make out of the scraps of his armor and that's all - and really, he doesn’t think that stabbing Loki with a screwdriver will do him much harm. He will keep it in mind for a last resort, though.

“I guess that is where you got the fur from?”  
Tony sends him a bright smile, but Loki just lifts his brows unimpressed.

After that, he concentrates on walking again, pretty proud of himself to still be able to set one foot in front of the other. If that bastard thinks Tony will give in and come crawling for his help, he can go fuck himself, because Tony will rather die than turn to him.  
Does he really think Tony will fall for his farce? As if Thor would send him here to rescue him! That’s absurd.  
They had just managed to catch that asshole, Thor would not just let him off again after mere hours! And even if he would – why the ever living hell should Loki really come here then to help him?  
He threw him out of a fucking window!  
He tried to take over the world and now he comes here to bring Tony back home out of the goodness of his heart?  
Of fucking course!

“Can you just piss off? Tell Thor I was already dead, as it seems that is the most likely outcome of landing here anyway.” Tony asks him with that smile he preserves for the cameras only.  
The whole thing reeks to heaven. Loki isn’t here to safe him, just because Thor asked him nicely. He isn’t here because that Allfather told him to. Loki gives a flying fuck about people telling him what to do and really, if they let him go without any assurance that he won’t come back? Loki would be fucking around everywhere but here. Tony is maybe seconds away from collapsing or pulling a Capsicle, but his brain still functions enough to know that. Loki is a sneaky fucker. And Tony will not fall for his lies.

“You rather die here than come with me?” Loki asks him with a smile that Tony cannot really put anywhere. It looks almost a little surprised. Really? He is surprised that Tony doesn’t trust him as far as he can spit?  
“I’d rather you take your ugly face and leave me alone” Tony replies sweetly and that earns him a hand around his throat and really, this is getting a little boring, is it not?

If Tony would not be so occupied with trying to get enough air into his lungs, he would totally tell him that. Now though, he is dangling in the air, fruitlessly scratching at the hand on his throat.  
“You better watch your tongue or I will rip it out, mortal.” Loki pulls him close enough for Tony to see that his eyes aren’t just red, but two shades of it, the iris a deeper color than the rest. Wow, totally important information here, he tells his brain.

Tony would love to say something, but he is not really able to, until the hand lets go and he lands in a heap on the ground, which is just a tiny bit humiliating. He thinks about taking the screwdriver out and stab Loki in the feet, but that would just be out of spite and not effective. He does not want to waste his precious tools on that asshole, when all it does will tickle him a little.

“You really think that strangling me will make me cooperate better, Smurfette?” Tony chokes out, while he manages to get back to his feet, angrily patting over his clothes to get the snow off. Loki dares to look annoyed at him about pointing that out. What the fuck went wrong with that bastard?  
“Why are you being so difficult?”  
Tony kind of laughs, because that question is just so unbelievable.

“Yes, of course, how can I dare to not trust you to bring me back safe to that planet you tried conquering with an alien army a few hours ago?” he spits out sarcastically, before turning around again to start walking once more. He has the feeling he will not be able to keep upright much longer, if he doesn’t make his feet start moving.

“It has been over three weeks since the battle.”  
Tony actually stops in his steps to throw Loki a look.  
“What?”  
“It has been 26 days.”  
Tony examines him a few moments, trying to gauge whether the other is fucking with him or not. “I've been here for maybe half a day.” he replies dryly.  
“Time is fickle when you fall through the void.”  
Loki's voice is hallow and he looks distanced almost. Tony won't take that shit, so he just shakes his head with a scoff and starts up walking again.  
“You think I am lying.”

He lifts his hands and applauds to the side to where Loki comes up to walk next to him. “No shit, reindeer Games. Award for most obvious conclusion goes to you, congratulations,” He sneers, before concentrating on walking again.  
He knows it’s a hopeless attempt. Where the fuck is he supposed to go, when he is not even on earth? Aside from the fact that he won’t be able to walk much longer. Well, he thought that an hour ago as well and see, he is still upright! (Even to him it sounds pretty pathetic).  
Maybe he is not even anywhere, but still in Manhattan and all this is just in his head and Loki is projecting some kind of hallucination into his mind, because he is bored and wants to see him dance around in the snow. Maybe he is dead and this is his personal hell.

“You really think I would take the effort to come here and continue talking to you if I would not have to? Believe me, if it was me, I would snap your neck and be done with it.”  
Wow, that is truly reassuring. But at least it sounds more like Loki and his homicidal tendencies. Tony gives him a look out of the corners of his eyes. “So you have to, huh? What happens if you don’t bring me to Earth?” he asks back, because ah, now they are getting somewhere. Loki has to rescue him, as in, if he does not, he will be in trouble.

The God narrows his red eyes at him and seems to ponder whether to tell him or not.  
“You can stop pretending to do this out of pure kindness, you know? No one’s gonna believe that shit anyway.”

For some time they walk more or less next to each other in silence, Tony ignoring him in favor of telling his feet to keep on walking. It feels like strolling next to a predator that will pounce you the moment you make an unexpected move. It has his heart hammering, his skin uncomfortably tight.

“If I bring you back and return to Asgard, I will be granted some… pleasantries in custody,” Loki says in the end and Tony gives him a look. “Like booze and girls?” he jokes, but the other just looks back with a lifted brow and replies: “A window and books more likely.”  
“Wow, what a party..” Tony mumbles and turns to look ahead again, “What happens when you don’t bring me back?”  
“No windows or books. Obviously.”  
Tony doesn’t believe him for a single second and it must show on his face, because Loki scowls at him, as if he is insulted about that.  
“Don’t give me that look, you really think I believe that shit?” he replies, his nerves running thin. He wants to lie down and sleep, god fuck he wants to lie down so much. But before he gives up in front of that asshole, he rather walks until his heart stops beating and he falls over dead.

“What reason do I have to lie?”  
And that’s just – what the actual. Fuck. Is. That. Question?!  
Tony turns to him than to give him a look, hands akimbo, because he just- can’t with that act here anymore.

“Really? You are asking that? You are, let me phrase it out for you: The. God. Of. Lies. You fucking lie when you open your mouth and you are asking that?”  
He is not in the mood to play with dumb-Loki. They both know they are sharp and they both know they can’t lie to each other, because they don’t trust a single word the other is speaking. Is it so fucking hard to stop pretending? He is not in the mood for games.

“So, excuse me for not believing a word that comes from you. You say that Allfather-dude sent you here to bring me back? And that you will get a fucking window in your cell for returning? Are you fucking kidding me?” he shakes his head about it all, eyebrows climbing higher.  
“You? Returning to a cell, because Daddy lets you off the leash and tells you to come home after bringing your date to the door? Seriously?”  
Loki doesn’t answer and Tony wants to throw his hands up in the air in frustration.  
“What's really making you dance after his pipe, huh? Why the hell would you return to them instead of simply fucking off? Why not just getting out of here now?”.  
They are staring at each other, Tony not able to read a single thing on that blue face. But the smug grin is wavering on its edges, Tony can see and he knows he hit score here.

“Mm? Swallowed your tongue? What is it? Some kind of magic leash that will pull you back to them? Some curse that will kill you, if you don’t do what they say? Or is there something you need in Asgard so badly, that you are doing this?”  
“Curses certainly do not work like you think them to.” Is what Loki decides to comment on amused and that just confirms for Tony that he is on the right track. Distracting him from the topic? I think not!  
“So, what is it then, huh? What makes you do this?”  
That bastard always has ulterior motives. That much he learned from their time on the Helicarrier.  
Loki aggressively remains silent. Tony doesn’t know how you can be screaming murder so much with your eyes without making a sound, but Loki manages. The Gods smile seems to be there just to show Tony how many teeth he has to rip his throat out with, but the anger just confirms Tony that he is right.  
“You rather stay here and die? Instead of coming with me back to your home?” Loki asks again and there is something in his face and voice that Tony can’t place.  
The Billionaire makes a show of thinking really hard about it, before shrugging.  
“Yup.” He replies, plopping the ‘p’ and acting unconcerned. For a second he thinks that is his death sentence, because Loki looks ready to strangle him on the spot with that manic grin.

“… How about I then visit your beautiful Realm alone to tell your people about your decision? I am sure your teammates will be devastated as well.”

Tony has to admit, he did not expect that. Anger flares up in the pit of his stomach and he grits his teeth. The playing stops the moment someone dares to threaten his friends. No one threatens his friends.  
“You dirty fucker.” He spits out, eyes narrowed and Loki smirks, because fuck him, but he knows he has him hooked up now. “Does that mean you will come with me now, Stark?” Loki grins and now Tony really wants to hurt him. Badly.  
What is he supposed to do now? When he threatens the people he loves? He can’t help them, he can’t help Pepper, he can’t- They are vulnerable, they are- He can’t help, he is defenseless- He is vulnerable.  
Fuck. Fucking _fuck_.  
It takes him a second to realize that his lungs are stuttering and another to recognize the feeling from before when he just woke up and no. No, not now! Not in front of him. Fuck, shit- Tony whirls around, his hands curling into the fur over his chest as he starts stumbling away.  
He doesn’t care about leaving Loki standing, while the air is practically sucked out of his lungs and something presses them together, presses the breath out. He can’t breath- no, not again, fuck, he has to stay in control, he can’t lose his shit now. He doesn’t know the desperate noises in his head are actually coming out of his mouth as he gasps for air, stumbles as his legs give out and almost brains himself against a tree.

“What is wrong with you?” he hears a voice, it’s like someone is speaking under water, or as if he has cotton in his head. His vision blurs and he heaves desperately. There are hands on his shoulders, keeping him down, holding him down.  
“Don’t-!”, he shouts, lashing out at whatever is trying to hold him down, shaking violently and curling away. Stay in control, stay in control, Tony. Everything is going out of focus, whirling before him, why is it so fucking dark?  
It takes him time to notice that he is sitting against a tree, head cradled in his hands and legs pulled up to his chest.  
What really helps in the end, is the steady glow of the arc reactor.  
As soon as he is able to see something again, he sees the faint light. He pulls the fur down enough to free it. At first it’s only on the edge of his eyesight, but he concentrates on it, telling himself he is alive, he is okay, it is still glowing. It’s something special, it’s what gives him the power to be something greater, something good, something able to protect himself and who he loves.

When he slowly lifts his head again, he flinches and then groans annoyed to see Loki in his line of vision, crouched in front of him with his arms resting casually on his knees, watching him. He titles his head at the sound as if Tony is something mildly interesting.  
“Did the war leave you with a soldier’s heart, Stark?” he asks him like a teacher would maybe ask the dumbest of the class the easiest question, curious if he will be able to at least get that one right.

Tony stares at him and he is too drained to snark back, so he just leans against the tree and lifts his hand enough to give him the bird. He doubts Loki even knows what it means. The frown looks affronted enough though, but instead of answering Loki turns away from him to look into a bag that hangs by his hips. Tony watches him tiredly, not able to move much more. He kind of does not want to anyway. God, he is so tired.

“That was not kind of me to say.” Loki says and Tony doesn’t know if that is some kind of attempt of apology or just stating a fact.  
Something warm is pressed against his hands, where they are still halfway cradled in the fur and Tony frowns, curling his fingers around it and pulling it in front of his face. It turns out to be simple, black gloves and his survival instinct must take over, because he shoves his stiff finger into them.  
A few seconds later they start tickling and burning and at first he thinks it was just a fucking trick to burn his hands off – but it's only the feel you get after you’ve been out as a child, forgetting your gloves and forming snowballs with your bare hands and then coming back into the house, skin tight and red and starting to flow with blood again. It hurts and Tony breaths through his nose, letting his head fall against the tree again, admitting defeat.

“Eat.”  
And Loki shoves some kind of.. is that meat? Dried meat? In his face. Tony watches him with what he hopes is a deadpanned expression and lifts a brow, until the God heaves an annoyed sigh and takes a bite himself to show him it is not poisoned. Well, if that’s the case…  
He really should not take any food from him, or anything whatsoever, Tony thinks to himself, as he chews and this must be the best fucking food he ever had.  
He is a weak, weak man.  
At least he feels a bit bad about it. Not enough to stop eating and wow, these gloves are really warm.

 _Fuck, Tony, you are like a freaking stray dog. Just because he gives you food, doesn’t mean you are supposed to let your guard down._  
It is really hard to keep his eyes open, though and chewing is really exhausting. He didn't think chewing could take so much effort. At least he isn’t feeling nauseous again.  
He is idly aware that Loki is holding out something between his fingertips and his eyes flicker to the little blue marble with a weak frown.  
“This is water. Just swallow the marble, it will turn to liquid in your stomach.”  
Again Tony stares at him until the God begrudgingly takes that marble thing into his mouth and makes a show of swallowing it down, giving him a look, as if to tell him that he is being unnecessarily uncooperative.  
Afterwards Loki gets another out of his bag and holds it out for Tony to take. He watches it a moment longer, before grabbing after it and just shoving it into his mouth and swallowing, before his pride takes over again.  
It’s a pretty fucking weird feeling when that thing turns to water in him. He shudders and grimaces. So, as it seems marble-water is a thing in Asgard. Huh.  
The next thing Loki pulls out of his pouch is… a pair of boots.  
“How much shit do you have in that bag..?” Tony asks quietly, already sitting a little more upright again, hand closed around the jerky and taking tiny bites from it, while he watches the other. Loki gives him a look and sets the pair of boots next to his feet.  
“What, you’re not going to help me into them?” Tony smirks, already feeling a little better with his heart calming down again. His voice still wavers, but that does not keep him from grinning innocently at Loki’s death glare. What? Can he not try to at least pretend to be unfazed after his mental breakdown? Leave him to scrape the meager rest of his pride together, okay?  
“I should have given you the food afterwards.” Loki mutters, more to himself, while reaching deeper into the bag than should be possible and Tony stares as he arm vanishes in there up to the shoulder and wow, that is a pretty awesome bag.  
“Do you, by any chance, have something to drink in there?” he asks, because he would kill for some booze right now. Loki just pulls some red fabric out of it, which is a bit disappointing.  
“Get up,” He is being told, but Tony just gives the God a look and remains sitting, eating his jerky casually. Maybe he is being a bit difficult, but really, he doesn’t think he can stand yet.  
The decision is taken out of his hand, though, when he is seized under his armpits (his fucking armpits!) and pulled upwards so quickly that the world spins and he is a second away from vomiting what he just ate all over Loki.  
“Keep still,” the God grunts and Tony frowns, as he takes the thick, dark fabric up (it looks a bit like Thor’s ridiculous cape) and then steps closer to Tony and throws it around his shoulders.  
“I’m really not a big fan of capes, you know..” he replies annoyed, before protesting loudly when the asshole rips the fur off him and throws it to the ground, “Hey!” and before he knows it his shirt is missing as well and, “What the fuck?!” he tries to shove himself away from where Loki just fucking ripped his shirt off him, but the God ignores him, closes the red fabric over his chest and actually snarls at Tony, when the other tries to punch him in the face.  
“I said: Keep still,” the god growls after easily catching the fist and grabbing hard enough to make Tony’s knuckles crack.  
Tony freezes, and Loki lets go again to close the clasp around Tony’s throat. “Trousers,” Loki tells him and Tony feels hysteria gushing into his chest, giving a weird clicking choking chuckle, because _what?_ “You know, normally they buy me dinner before demanding that and I do not consider dry pieces of meat and magic water a dinner,” He deadpans, because this is just too fucked up to react normally to.  
Loki looks at him as if contemplating to rip the jeans off and strangle him with it.  
“Get out of your pants, Stark or I will kill you,” He sounds so annoyed that Tony can really see him doing it and the sentence alone makes him want to laugh desperately.  
“Why?” he asks, probably sounding both distraught and amused. Loki’s eyes tremble in frustration and it would be funny, if it would not be because Tony doesn’t want to drop his pants for him.  
“That fabric will serve you better clothing against the weather, but I doubt you want to have your dirty trousers under them, do you?”  
This makes no sense, but the magic water and magic bag and magic gloves don’t make either. So apparently a magic cape is not out of question.  
“If I freeze my dick off, many people will want to take you to justice, just so you know,” He mutters, before removing his jeans, having some problems to get them over his heat-isolated improved sneakers. He manages though and then Loki just lets a blue finger run over where the cape is held by the clasp.  
Tony gasps a second later when… something grasps him and he would have toppled over if not for the hands on his shoulders keeping him upright, while coldness or- or electricity or something runs over his body.  
He swears and closes his eyes, because it feels so unfamiliar and odd – like being dumped into a too cold bath, like the feeling he gets when his suit stops working for a split second and he falls out of the air. That drop of heart and squeezing of lungs.

“You may open your eyes again,” Loki's amused voice reaches him and Tony wants to punch him for it, while he blinks his lids open again, pushing away from where he is still holding his shoulders immediately. He gives him a dangerous glare, while patting down his own body, trying to get rid of that weird feeling pulsing through him. Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t feel nakedness or that ridiculous cape, but actual clothing under his fingers and when he looks down at himself, he freezes.

He is wearing clothes. Like – clothes that had not been there before - and they are warm. God, they are fucking warm, it feels so good. He would weep, if he would not be too dumbfounded. They look fucking ugly, though, even in the dim light. What is it with their fashion from a second class fantasy historical computer game?

“… Don’t you have anything from Calvin Klein?” he asks just to fuck with him and he sees the smug expression on Loki’s face dim in annoyance. Yeah, eat that, not everyone keels over when you do a Houdini.  
“You’re an ungrateful child,” Loki tells him with a lifted brow and Tony crosses his arms over the ridiculous red coat-like thing he is wearing now.  
“Say’s the one that wants to conquer a world, just because Daddy gave it to your older brother and won’t let you play with it,” He replies.  
He is kind of getting used to the look of homicidal mania in those red eyes.  
“You know nothing of my reasons, mortal,” Loki hisses and Tony rolls his own eyes, muttering “You know nothing, John Snow..” into his warm collar, before crouching down to put the boots on. No use to pretend anymore he does not need them.  
While he fastens them, taking his time, he thinks about all this again. His mind is still a little fuzzy and the shattering and trembling returns, which is probably good, that means his body is trying to warm up his arms and legs again, right?

Okay, so Loki kind of saved his ass right now, but that doesn’t really means much, does it? It maybe makes up for the throwing him out of the window. It does not make up for killing Coulson. Or sending an alien army to earth. He killed eighty innocent people in two days and Tony doesn’t even know how many more in the actual battle in Manhattan. His heart clenches and he quickly directs his thoughts away from that event. He only knows that he can’t let his guard down. He won’t trust that bastard just because he gave him a new pair of shoes.

He tries to think of his options. He can take what he is given and take off on his own (that depends on whether Loki would let him and he doubts it). He can try to somehow get behind that asshole, surprise him with his diffusers and stab him with his screwdriver. Which will probably work just as well as him trying to take down the Hulk with a slingshot.  
That reminds him… Tony turns to the heap of his clothes and searches through it, ignoring Loki watching him, as he takes his tools out of it and searches for pockets in his new outfit. The thick, white cotton shirt has none and those dark pants are too tight to fit anything in, even if they would have pockets, which they don’t. He feels ridiculous the longer he inspects himself. That red tailcoat-thing practically screams ‘target’ and he gives Loki a look while fiddling with the ugly golden knobs on his chest that keep the coat closed. He gets the feeling Loki purposefully gave him the ugliest clothing he could think of and made them red and gold just to mock him.  
“I look ridiculous,” He comments and Loki, the insolent bastard states: “I cannot help you with the face.”  
“Asshole, I mean the clothes. It’s a fucking swallowtail,” he complains, reaching behind him to pull on the ends of the coat to emphasize, “It looks like I am about to hop on my ridiculously named horse, put on a top hat and let it run in fancy circles in a riding ring.”  
“Does it keep you warm?” Loki replies, not even trying to suppress his amusement, the fucker and Tony narrows his eyes. “At least gimme something for my head,” He growls, because his ears are still cold, okay?  
Loki indicates a shrug and reaches into his bag again, pulling out another, smaller piece of fabric and scrunching it together in his hands. Tony swears he does not blink, but suddenly it has changed its shape.  
Into a red top head.  
“You _motherfucker_ ,” Tony seethes at the shit eating grin he is greeted with.


End file.
